The Landlady's Monolgue
by Mirowen
Summary: [The Landlady] What did happen to Billy Weaver, the night he got off the train?


A/N: This is just a short monologue I did as part of an English assignment at school, which I thought was pretty creepy. Please read and review.

I knew he was perfect the moment I saw him. He was such a smartly dressed young man, very handsome too and I guessed he must have been about twenty years old. He looked like a businessman with his blue overcoat, hat and suit. He seemed young and naïve, the poor boy.

I watched him from my third floor window, where I often like to spend my evenings, chatting away to my guests. From there I can see all the way to the end of the street towards the train station. He walked briskly, this young man, and I knew he would pass my door in a matter of minutes.

I rushed downstairs to check on the fire in the hearth. It was roaring nicely, heating my cosy sitting room and making the polished wooden surfaces dance with shades of orange and red. I rearranged the pussywillows in the vase and moved them over to the window so that they would be seen from the outside. My little dachshund Basil was curled up on the rug and Polly was standing very still in her cage. It's so good to have my little pets with me.

I peeked out from behind my velvet curtains. The dear boy was standing _just _outside my gate. I could tell he was admiring my house and my garden. The street-lamp outside illuminated my home and especially lit up my brass sign that read, 'Bed and Breakfast', in large black letters.

He was tempted to stay, I could tell. My sign acted like a magnet, the glow from the reflection attracted them like a moth to the flame. I was nervous, even though there was no real reason to be. I _knew_ he would stay, I _knew_ he'd come in. All the young ones did. _No one _could resist my sign, or my flowers, or the beautiful soft glow that the fire gave out. I began to whisper under my breath, as if I was calling out to him, urging him in, inviting him inside. I _knew_ he'd come.

And I was right! No sooner had I reminded myself of the fact that young men were easily ensnared by my sign, he came up my garden path. I ran to the door, hardly able to contain my excitement. Another little pet coming to stay with me. He wouldn't want to leave me either, just like handsome Mr Mulholland and Mr…Mr…Oh, what is his name? I _am_ getting forgetful in my old age. But it is so hard to remember the names of my guests, especially when they're not constantly reminding you of what it is.

I answered the door a bit to quickly for my liking; I didn't want him to think I was _too_ eager to have him stay. He was startled by my response, he hadn't even taken his finger off the bell, but I couldn't wait a second longer to see him up close. And I wasn't disappointed. What a beautiful young boy! He looked younger up close but that was no matter. He looked about seventeen now. My goodness, the _perfect age_! Mr Mulholland was also seventeen and was _just right_. He had beautiful teeth, just like this young man. I began to shake with excitement but I managed to control myself. I smiled pleasantly and I soon realised that he was not too put off by my rapid response to the doorbell.

I invited him in of course, he couldn't stay out there in the awful September chill and I was as polite as possible to him. He was a charming boy. He was also very polite to me and I do believe he must have been an intelligent man.

I took his coat and hat from him and hung it up on my coat stand. I made sure I was very careful with them. I didn't want to get them dusty or dirty and I certainly didn't want to crease his smart blue overcoat. He would be needing it again very soon, once he was on the third floor with the other guests. It is quite nippy up there, as if a winter breeze is always blowing through.

I took him up to the second floor, which of course was _all _for him. All my guests spend their first night on this floor, that's before I take them upstairs, which is much nicer I think. Being alone isn't very nice, but on the third floor you're not on your own. You're with Mr Mulholland and…Mr…Mr…well the other guests. They don't talk as much as they used to. When he first came, Mr Mulholland sat with me in the sitting room with a cup of tea and ginger biscuits and we would talk for ages. I would always be refilling his teacup. He loved his tea, the dear boy and I was only too happy to make him some. Of course I'd add a little something to help him get to sleep quicker. They're always _so _much easier to handle when they're asleep. But Mr Mulholland doesn't talk so much as then, I miss that.

The bedspread on the bed that this new young man would be sleeping in had been taken off. I had taken it because I had the feeling that Mr Mulholland was cold, and I didn't want him to catch the flu, (he has been looking quite poorly lately) so I took it up there for him and tucked him up so he was nice and warm. Later on I will come back down with it and put it back on the bed, ready for the next guest, but for now it could stay upstairs.

This boy, Billy Weaver I think his name was, didn't seem to mind that I had taken it, so I quickly asked him if he would sign my guest book. _All_ my guests have to sign the guest book as soon as they arrive, otherwise I won't remember what their names are, and that would be a shame.

I left him to unpack and I went downstairs to put the kettle on. I took a plate out of the cupboard, took out a few ginger biscuits from the tin, and placed them neatly in a circle on the plate. Billy _must_ have some biscuits before he goes to bed, and some tea. They all have tea and biscuits before they go to bed. It's a little tradition of mine.

As I was arranging the biscuits onto the plate, I suddenly started thinking about Mr Wilkins. He was my first ever guest here at the bed and breakfast. It must have been, well, nearly twenty years ago now. He was a doctor, a very handsome doctor. He had the most beautiful eyes you could ever imagine, a sort of greyish-blue. He was very modest, even though I complimented him all the time. I was fascinated by what he told me in our conversations. He used to be a surgeon, but had given that up when he had got slightly older. He would tell me about all the operations he had carried out and told me all about anaesthetics and just where to cut so that it wouldn't bleed too much. Mr Wilkins said he wanted to stay for about a month, while his wife and children were in Scotland visiting their Grandmother, but after some persuasion he has been staying with me ever since. And I remember _everything_ he ever told me about being a doctor. You could say I learnt a lot from him.

I heard Mr Weaver trotting down the stairs whilst I was still in the kitchen. He went into the sitting room and I heard him looking for the guest book. I waited for a moment, hardly daring to breathe so that I could hear the scratching of the fountain pen on the page. I get so excited when people sign my book!

I came back in and he asked me about my two charming gentlemen just upstairs. I think the dear boy recognised their names in the book. I wasn't about to tell them who they were, it would be a _nice_ surprise when he went upstairs and saw them for himself.

I went back into the kitchen to fetch the ginger biscuits and gently placed them on the coffee table. I told him to sit down and asked if he'd like tea. The boy said I needn't bother, how thoughtful of him to think of me, but I insisted. Like I said, I want them all to be comfortable, and what's more cosy than having tea and biscuits by the fireside?

Once again I went into the kitchen and poured the tea into little china teacups. Mr Weaver was still trying to figure out where he had heard the names before. I stifled a laugh. It would be _such_ a surprise when he saw them, but I was determined that he shouldn't find out who they were until he too was up on the third floor.

I stirred the "little-something-extra" into his tea and brought his and mine into the sitting room. I sat down, looking him over and thought about how good he would look standing next to the other guests.

I handed him his tea and he sipped it slowly, looking around the room and, if I'm not mistaken, was very impressed with the cleanliness of my house. I must admit I do like a house to be spick and span. Dust and dirt just do not agree with me. The third floor is very tidy. I always clear up after I've taken another guest up there, and I always give the guests quick flicks with the feather duster. It must tickle awfully.

We talked for a while (it's good to have someone who talks back) and very soon he began to move on to Mr Mulholland and dear old Mr Temple. My goodness, look at that! I remembered the poor dear's name! Anyway, I told him what I thought of them, naturally I was very complimentary, after all they are so nice to me. Every day I go upstairs and talk with them. Only yesterday I went upstairs and had a nice long chat with Mr Wilkins about the weather. He may not speak much but he is a _very _good listener. He never interrupts but he's always smiling, and those pretty blue eyes sparkle at me. His eyes are so beautiful and to me it seems as though I can see my reflection in them. I can't help but smile back.

I think Mr Weaver was slightly shocked when he realised that my dear Basil and Polly were stuffed. But at the same time he seemed quite fascinated. I don't consider my little pets as stuffed. It's more like they are...preserved. It is much better that way. They keep me company. I love them so much.

I think the "little-something-extra" was beginning to make Mr Weaver sleepy; I was quite surprised that it was working so quickly. I wanted to talk with him a little more but I knew that in moments he would be sleeping. He said goodnight and went upstairs to bed. I watched him go, admiring his muscular figure and wondered how long I should wait before I went upstairs to get him ready to meet the other guests. He would have to change of course. He couldn't meet them in his nightclothes. I decided to put his suit back on for him, and his overcoat and hat. Then he would look very smart again.

So, now there is another little pet upstairs and two even smaller ones in my sitting room. I do enjoy having company, but only certain people. You see, I tend to be a _teeny weeny bit choosy_ about who stays here with me. I don't like the women, they chatter on like sparrows and are not very friendly. I once had a young girl stay and I made the special tea, just like with the others. However, she didn't look as nice when she was asleep, so she had to go. That night I had to put her in the wheelbarrow and carry her all the way to the lake. I remember her telling me that she liked swimming so there would be no harm in leaving her in the water.

I'm sitting on the third floor right now, admiring my guests. I'm so pleased they all like it here so much that they want to stay with me for so long. Mr Wilkins has been here the longest and he is my truly greatest friend in the whole world.

I'm looking out of my window at the moment and…goodness gracious me! There is another young man is just leaving the train station. Well this is amazing, two guests in two days.

I must go downstairs quickly to make sure that everything's at it should be. I can't wait to have another man staying here at my little bed and breakfast. I wonder if his skin is as beautiful as Mr Temple's is, there isn't a blemish on that man's body.

Well, like I said, no one can resist that sign in my window, and I have to get the tea ready.


End file.
